The arrival of Chamberlain Lennersdorf broke his reverie.
‘We’re ready to seat you now,’ he said. ‘If you’ll follow me?’
Wulfric looked to Jagovere, took a deep breath, then followed Lennersdorf into the hall.
WULFRIC WOKE THE NEXT MORNING, still feeling bloated from the amount of food he had eaten. He had enjoyed the evening despite himself. Most everyone had maintained a respectful distance, and when they did speak with him it was to ask questions about his travels and his battles, rather than to mock his Northland background.
Jagovere’s story had been well received, Enderlain had not gotten drunk or tried to start a fight, and Varada had not stabbed anyone for staring at her too long. With the niceties taken care of, and their respect for the princess duly shown, Wulfric was excited by the prospect of being able to get on with what he intended to do. The experience had been a positive one, and he even thought he might like to return to Brixen someday, but that would have to wait.
He packed his new belongings in an equally new valise, and realised that he could quickly become used to the life of a courtly gentleman. He was about to go and tell the others to ready themselves for departure if they still wished to go with him, when there was a knock at the door. Chamberlain Lennersdorf stood on the other side.
Without invitation he walked in, and looked around.
‘I hope your apartment is to your liking,’ he said.
‘It serves me very well,’ Wulfric said. ‘I’m very much obliged to Her Highness.’
‘Indeed,’ Lennersdorf said. ‘That brings me to my reason for being here. Princess Alys would like you to join her and some of the other courtiers for a morning of archery. It’s one of her favourite pastimes, and to be invited to join her on a morning’s shooting is considered to be a very great honour.’
Wulfric groaned inwardly, but knew that it wouldn’t do to let the chamberlain know what he was thinking. Was it too much to hope that this would be the last demand made of him before he could leave for Elzburg?
‘I’m to bring you there as soon as you’re ready to leave. You’ll be joined by two of your colleagues, Lord Borlitz and Enderlain the Greatblade. They will meet us in the courtyard where horses are being made ready for us.’
Wulfric took his sword belt from where it rested against his valise, and strapped it around his waist.
‘One more thing before we go,’ the chamberlain said. ‘You managed to behave yourself last night, and even managed to use the correct cutlery for each course of food, which I have to admit came as something of a surprise. I suppose having seen a little of the world has knocked off some of the rough edges. Nonetheless, I expect you to continue to behave like a civilised man while in the princess’s company, and not like the untamed Northern savage we both know you really are.’
Wulfric felt blood pulse at his temples as his temper flared. ‘It’s never the best-advised course to insult a man who’s just picked up a sword,’ Wulfric said.
The chamberlain smiled. ‘Murdering a royal official in the palace would be little different to cutting your own throat, although I dare say if you were to do harm to me, your death would be far slower and far more painful than were you to take the blade to yourself.’
Wulfric’s hand was tight on his sabre’s hilt. This was the treatment he had expected from the haughty southerners, but he had been lulled into a false sense of security. The hypocrisy of it was what irked him the most. Southerners loved the romance and mystery of the Northlands, a place where their old gods and legends still lived, but they viewed the inhabitants of that land, cousins not so distantly removed, as ignorant savages.
He took a deep breath and closed his eyes a moment, listening to the sound of blood thumping through his ears and trying to quell its fury. Slowly it subsided, and he cast Lennersdorf a vicious smile.
‘Shall we go?’ he said.
CHAPTER 8
Wulfric travelled in silence, concerned that his temper would flare again with the slightest provocation. Neither Enderlain nor Jagovere were particularly lively after the previous night’s festivities, so they seemed not to notice his mood. Every so often, he spotted Lennersdorf looking over at him, and he could not help but wonder if the man had tired of life. Chamberlain or not, Wulfric would kill him if he offered up another insult.
The archery range was in a meadow outside the city walls. It was a secluded spot, away from the curious eyes of passers-by and screened by bushes and trees from the road. In the ditches and shaded spots there were still occasional patches of snow, holding out obstinately against the onward march of spring. The chill in the air was a comfort to Wulfric, who welcomed its touch after so long in the stifling heat of Estranza and Darvaros. At times it felt as though he were home.
Several straw butts had been set out in a line across the meadow, and a group of aristocrats were gathered at the rear of two carts—one carrying what Wulfric assumed to be archery equipment, the other serving coffee and breakfast. It was a civilised affair and far removed from any of the archery training sessions Wulfric had experienced during his apprenticeship. He felt almost nostalgic for Eldric barking out commands, and lambasting them if they weren’t meeting his expectations.
He looked over the aristocrats, unable to criticise them for their opulent appearances since he looked little different now. It was difficult to reconcile the luxury with the martial nature of the activity. Archery was not sport for him; it was a way to put food on the table or an enemy in his grave. They probably thought themselves hardy and adventurous, braving the cold to try shooting arrows into straw targets so early in the morning. He wondered how they would cope when shooting at a charging boar, or a man intent on killing them?
What made it worse was that Wulfric knew he was, at best, a middling archer. Urrich had always been the best with a bow in Leondorf, and Wulfric had never even come close to matching him. Maybe it would be different with a bunch of over-privileged southerners. Perhaps here his previously unregarded skills would shine. The thought did little to quell the anger he still felt at the chamberlain’s insults. In any other circumstances, Wulfric would have gutted him. It might still happen.
He could use the archery to his advantage, however. He would show them all what he was made of, send them a warning to think twice before underestimating him or calling him a savage. The bow might not be his preferred weapon, but he would still best a bunch of soft southerners.
‘Quiet this morning, Ulfyr,’ Jagovere said. ‘Anything wrong?’
‘No,’ he said, but did not elaborate.
‘Yup,’ Enderlain said. ‘Sounds like everything’s just dandy.’
‘Good morning, gentlemen.’ Banneret-Captain Jennser walked forward with a friendly smile on his face. ‘Lovely morning for it. There are bows and arrows in the wagon there. Coffee and breakfast in the other. Please help yourselves. We usually start with a little practice, and finish up with a friendly contest. All bets limited to one crown, of course. I have to admit we’re all curious to see you shoot.’
‘I’m sure you are,’ Wulfric said, the words coming out like a snarl.
Jennser raised his eyebrows. ‘Well, I hope you enjoy the morning’s diversions.’ With that he returned to the wagons and the other members of the party.
‘That was mighty friendly of you,’ Jagovere said. ‘Headache this morning?’
‘A Northlander can drink all night and be ready to fight at dawn,’ Wulfric said, though he realised immediately his words were churlish.
Jagovere raised his eyebrows. ‘Well, I suppose we might as well get our bows and arrows.’
There was a servant in the back of the equipment wagon handing out bows and quivers full of arrows. Enderlain waved him off and hopped up into the wagon. Ignoring the servant’s protests, he started to rummage through the crates, pulling out bows, inspecting them, and then continuing his search. Eventually he found three that he was satisfied with and handed one to Wulfric, along with a leather quiver.
J
ennser approached them again, more hesitantly. ‘We thought it best if we distribute you among the shooting parties, so everyone can have a chance to meet one of the famous adventurers.’
They were spread out amongst the aristocrats, Enderlain, to Wulfric’s surprise, being placed in the princess’s party. He had thought, all things considered, that the honour would have been given to him. Jennser brought Wulfric over to his party and introduced him to them.
‘Ulfyr of the Northlands, may I introduce you to Lady Altburg, Lady Stenlitz, and Lord Hochmark. I hope you all enjoy your morning’s shooting.’
The ladies were what Wulfric had come to expect from Ruripathian noblewomen. They were well-dressed, with perfectly coiffured hair, imperious demeanours, and impeccable manners. Hochmark was a short man with cropped hair and beady eyes. He held himself with a self-assurance that was belied by his stature, which Wulfric took to mean he was extraordinarily wealthy, powerful, or both.
‘I’ll shoot first, I think,’ he said.
His accent was different from anything Wulfric had heard, a strong regional one that sounded like an insult to his ears. Even an ignorant savage like Wulfric knew the polite thing to do was to allow the ladies to have their turn first, and Hochmark’s presumption irritated Wulfric’s already bad mood.
The butts had paper targets pinned to them, and Hochmark put his first arrow into the middle ring, grazing the line that separated it from the bulls-eye.
‘Ha,’ he said. ‘A bulls-eye. You’ll be hard pressed to do better, I expect, Northlander.’
Wulfric glanced to the ladies, but neither seemed willing to contradict Hochmark.
‘The middle ring, I think,’ Wulfric said.
‘Nonsense,’ Hochmark said. ‘It’s a bulls-eye. Let’s see you do better. Take your shot.’
‘I believe it’s the ladies’ turn,’ Wulfric said.
‘No ducking it, Northlander,’ Hochmark said. ‘Let’s see you beat my shot.’
Wulfric felt his temper flare. It seemed his concession after the banquet that the southerners weren’t so bad had been premature. If a man had condescended to him like that in the Northlands, Wulfric would have killed him on the spot. Twice in one day was testing his self-control to its limits. He forced a thin smile, but could feel his hands begin to shake. He held onto the bow tightly in an effort to fight it off as he turned to the ladies.
‘Apologies,’ he said. ‘If you don’t mind?’
‘Please, go ahead,’ Lady Stenlitz said.
It appeared that she was afraid of Hochmark, or at least eager not to put herself on his wrong side.
Wulfric had not drawn a bowstring since he was an apprentice, and was struck by the worry that came with carrying out a long unpractised act under scrutiny. He took his stance, nocked an arrow, and drew the string. He forced himself to take a long, slow breath and let it out, but his heart raced with anger, and he could not push Hochmark’s cocky arrogance from his thoughts. He loosed the arrow, and tried to follow its path as it whistled high and over the butt, missing it completely.
‘Ha,’ Hochmark said. ‘Not at all what I expected. Not very good. Not very good at all. I expect the ladies here will best you with every shot.’
‘I’m not an archer,’ Wulfric said.
‘No, that is very evident. Ladies, take your shots.’
He said it with such dismissiveness that Wulfric had to close his eyes and take a deep breath to still himself.
Hochmark stepped back and stood next to Wulfric as the ladies took their shots.
‘Have you been to the Hochmark?’ he said.
‘No.’
‘Really? After the Elzmark it’s the largest province in Ruripathia. The wealthiest too, although I hear dal Elzmark is making a fortune from his new territories in the Northlands. All that wealth lying there ignored by you people. Rather careless, don’t you think?’
‘We didn’t have any use for it,’ Wulfric said.
‘I suppose not. I’m sure a silver coin is a waste of space when there’s nothing up there worth buying with it.’
‘I’d be surprised if the furs on your cloak weren’t from the Northlands,’ Wulfric said.
Hochmark shrugged dismissively.
‘Not have a belek fur?’
‘I hear you’re supposed to have killed two,’ Hochmark said, ignoring the question. ‘Come now, tell the truth, that’s all made up for the sake of the stories, isn’t it?’
‘No,’ Wulfric said. ‘I killed them both. With a blade. On my own.’
‘Ha,’ Hochmark said. ‘I don’t believe that for a moment. Have to say, it’s not the only thing I don’t believe. I think Lord Borlitz spins a very good yarn.’
‘You call me a liar?’ Wulfric said. He could hear the arrows rattle in his quiver, so violently were his hands shaking.
‘If that’s the way you shoot, skill with a blade is not something I’d attribute to you.’
‘Perhaps you’d like to find out,’ Wulfric said.
‘Ha,’ Hochmark said. ‘Know your place, Northlander. I’m the premier peer of this realm. I am sure you were placed in my shooting party because the princess thought she would please me by giving me the famous Ulfyr, but she is sadly mistaken. Go and wait by the carts. I tire of you, you ignorant savage.’
Wulfric felt his resolve snap like an over-stressed bowstring. ‘If you were a man at all, you’d back up your words with steel.’
News of the growing confrontation must have spread, because Wulfric realised that Jagovere was standing next to him.
‘You clearly don’t realise your place. Your friend would do well to take you away before I get angry with you. You’re a commoner. You’re not even a commoner. You can’t challenge me to a duel. The idea is laughable.’
‘What’s going on here?’ Jagovere said to Wulfric out of earshot of the others.
‘This runt bastard insulted me,’ Wulfric said. ‘I’m not having it.’ He raised his voice. ‘I’ll not take this insult and walk away.’
‘And yet you have no option,’ Hochmark said, a look of superiority on his face.
‘You want to fight him?’ Jagovere said quietly.
‘Absolutely. Every one of us will look like idiots if I let him talk to me like that.’
Jagovere chewed his lip for a moment, then cleared his throat as a concerned Banneret-Captain Jennser arrived. ‘That might not actually be the case, my Lord Hochmark.’
‘You’d do well to take your friend away, Lord Borlitz,’ Hochmark said.
‘Ulfyr, your father was the chief of your village and its territory?’ Jagovere said.
‘First Warrior, yes,’ Wulfric said.
‘You see,’ Jagovere said, ‘although he’s foreign, he is in fact a nobleman. The son of what we would call… I think “Graf” is the most appropriate equivalent. As such, he’s more than entitled to demand satisfaction for an insult from any nobleman in the city. As a banneret yourself, Lord Hochmark, I’m sure you’ll agree?’
‘This is absurd,’ he said. ‘Can he even use a rapier? You can’t fight a duel with a club, you know.’
‘He can use a rapier,’ Jagovere said. ‘Or a backsword if you prefer—the Ruripathian sabre is more traditional in the Hochmark, is it not?’
‘You can’t expect me to fight a duel against this, this person! Absurd,’ Hochmark said.
‘Of course not,’ Jagovere said.
Hochmark nodded and smiled.
‘Only if you want to leave this meadow with even a vestige of honour intact,’ Jagovere said.
‘I’m the premier peer of this realm. I don’t have to fight anyone.’
‘The dictates of honour view every man as equal,’ Jagovere said. ‘Every gentleman, that is.’
‘Gentlemen, please,’ Jennser said. ‘Let’s not spoil a pleasant morning’s shooting. Perhaps an apology would satisfy everyone?’
‘It won’t,’ Wulfric said.
‘That you’d expect me to apologise to an ignorant Northlander for anything is la
ughable,’ Hochmark said. ‘I hope Her Highness realises her error in bringing them here.’
‘You’ve been asked for satisfaction from an individual of standing,’ Jagovere said. ‘What is your reply?’
‘It will have to wait,’ Hochmark said. ‘My champion had to return to Hochburg and won’t be back in the city until next week.’
‘That won’t do at all,’ Jagovere said. ‘You’ll have to fight it yourself. Any delay would unacceptably compound the insult. No, seeing as we’re already in an appropriate location, it’s best we fight it here, now. I’ll happily stand second for my friend. Banneret-Captain Jennser, I trust you’ll stand for Lord Hochmark. He doesn’t strike me as the type of man to step out on his seconds.’
‘I… of course,’ Jennser said. ‘It would be my honour, my lord.’
The veins in Hochmark’s forehead throbbed as it became clear to him that he wasn’t going to be able to bully his way out of the situation.
‘Very well,’ Hochmark said. ‘I don’t take kindly to having my time trifled with, however, so do not expect me to be merciful.’
Wulfric smiled. He felt exactly the same way.
CHAPTER 9
The excitement in the meadow was palpable as Wulfric and Hochmark separated to prepare for the duel. The southerners loved nothing more than a duel, it seemed, particularly one born of insult. Hochmark and Jennser prepared at the wagon, while Wulfric, Jagovere, and Enderlain moved a way off to do the same. The other attendees gathered at the refreshments cart, and even from a distance Wulfric could tell they relished the prospect of what was to come.
The Blood Debt: Wolf of the North Book 3 Page 7